


Christmas With the (New) Hales

by Fatebegins



Series: Edited To Add [6]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-28
Updated: 2012-12-28
Packaged: 2017-11-22 18:30:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/612887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fatebegins/pseuds/Fatebegins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek and Stiles' first official Christmas together comes with a few hurdles,  one in particular that Stiles isn't even aware of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas With the (New) Hales

  
“Okay, this is definitely weird.”  
  
“What‘s weird?”  From their bed, Derek looks at Stiles as he checks his phone. He’s only wearing a white towel and it’s hanging dangerously low on his hips.  
  
Stiles’ hair is wet, ends dripping and Derek is more than a little entranced as he watches a drop of water roll down his chest, skirt a dusky nipple to disappear down his flat stomach. Derek wants to trace the path of the drop with his tongue, and his dick is on board with that idea, hardening in his briefs.  
  
They’ve only just gotten out of the shower- just had sex in said shower-- but he feels like he could go a few more rounds. There’s something intoxicating-- _addicting_ \-- about pushing into Stiles’ completely bare, nothing between them as he pushes deep into his pliant heat. There’s a thrill knowing Stiles can feel every inch of his cock, every vein; that he can feel his come pushing up inside of him.  
  
Nothing excites him more.  
  
“…him a call. What do you think?”  
  
Judging by the way Stiles is looking at him, Derek knows he’s been busted for zoning out.  In his defense he’s gotten hard from just his own thoughts and nothing is more distracting than a semi-naked Stiles and a hard on.  
  
Fuck it, Derek doesn’t want to talk anyway. “Come here, baby.”  
  
“Seriously, Derek?” With an exasperated huff, Stiles grabs a shirt out of the dresser and tugs it over his head. “There.  Can you pay attention to my actual words now?”  
  
“Fine.” Trying not to pout--because he is not Dylan-- Derek gives in, “What were you saying?”  
  
“I said Rafe hasn’t answered my texts in days.”  
  
Forcing his voice to remain neutral, Derek leans back against the pillows. “Why is that weird?”  
  
“He said he would let me know about meeting with us after New Years.”  
  
“Still have a couple of days.” Rafael definitely doesn’t have cell phone access where he is. “He’s probably tied up.”  
  
“It’s been three days since I heard from him at all.”  
  
_And before that it was three years_. “Maybe he changed his mind.”  
  
“Maybe.” There’s a hint of sadness in Stiles’ voice and Derek bristles. “But he was so insistent about being in Dylan’s life, and I really thought. I thought he meant it.”  
  
“Hey,” Derek lifts up the covers and Stiles get in instantly, snuggling up against him. “Don’t beat yourself up about it.”  
  
“It’s frustrating.”  
  
“Forget about it; forget about him.” Derek shifts, moves over Stiles and kisses his soft mouth. “Focus on us.”  
  
***Derek***  
  
Peter’s house always brings up a lot of memories, not many are pleasant but the few that are hit Derek hard. The first time he stepped over the threshold ten years ago had been the first time he truly felt wanted.  
  
There aren’t rose colored glasses strong enough for Derek to delude himself over Peter. There’s cruelty, a capacity for violence in him that Derek could never fully grasp, but beneath that there’s an almost gentle loyalty. An empathy that drove Peter to  take him in when his parents died, try to raise a boy when he could barely care for himself.  Even when they were separated, when Peter was convicted on two counts of racketeering and sent up state, he made sure Derek was taken care of.    
  
Derek’s let in by one of the silent five, he still doesn’t have a key.  It’s nothing personal, it’s precaution.  
  
“Thanks, Craig.” Derek says and the big man grunts. Derek’s fairly sure it’s not his name, but hey, they’re not the most talkative bunch.  
  
“Boss will be out soon.” Not Craig says.  
  
The place has changed, the coldness leached out by Scott’s eclectic decorating. The once bare foyer holds a giant  pink and yellow Christmas tree, numerous presents tucked underneath and it’s enough to make Derek do a double take.  Whatever it is that brought Scot and Peter together, whatever magic keeps them together, Derek hopes it lasts. There’s no one who can make Peter happier.  
  
“Derek,” Peter comes out of his office, always dressed in a black suit as if he has an actual nine to five. “It’s about time you dragged your lazy ass up here.”  
  
“It’s been two days.”  
  
“Two days _too_ long.” Scott responds, poking his head out of Peter’s office. His shirt is buttoned up incorrectly and his hair is messy. “Holding some guy hostage in the basement is ruining the Christmas cheer around here!”  
  
Peter looks slightly apologetic. “About that, Scott wants him gone by tonight.”  
  
“I plan on dealing with him.”  
  
“Don’t get blood on my carpet.”  Peter commands before Scott pulls him back inside by his tie.  
  
The door shuts quickly and Derek really doesn’t want to think about what they’re doing in there. Derek pauses above the landing to the basement, shaking his head when he hears the calls for help. Rafael is really slow on the uptake if he’s still screaming for help every time he hears the door open. There’s no one around for miles. Peter has chosen his home because of the seclusion.  
  
As soon as Derek steps into the room, Rafael goes silent. He looks terrified, seated in a chair with his hands and feet shackled in chains.  
  
There’s a stab of something--some foreign emotion that goes through him when Derek sees Dylan’s own eyes in the other man’s face.  
  
“Let me go.” Rafael pleads. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”  
  
It takes a second for Derek to recognize the emotion as jealousy.  
  
“I haven’t done anything to you.”  
  
“Shut up.” Derek drags a chair over in front of Rafael, sits down and just stares at the other man. This bastard  wants to worm his way into _his_ son’s life, to fuck over Stiles one more time. He won’t let him.  
  
“If you want money, I can get something together. I just--”  
  
The words abruptly end when Derek pulls out a switch blade.  
  
“Say one more word and I cut out your tongue.” A fearful nod. “Good,” Derek studies him. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”  
  
Up close and personal, Derek can catalogue everything.

The flicker of emotion in his eyes, the way his mouth is white, pressed together in a thin line. He looks nothing like the man in the photos, the one hanging all over Stiles; kissing him.  
  
“I’m going to ask you three questions and you’re going to tell me the truth. I’ll know if you’re lying, and I hate being lied to.” When Rafael nods his head once more, Derek continues. “Why are you here?”  
  
“I’m here for my son. I have a son…I haven’t, I haven’t been in his life and I wanted to change that. ”  
  
Carefully showing no reaction,  Derek looks down at the dull flash from the blade. “You owe us two hundred thousand dollars, do you have that money?”  
  
“I don’t.” Fear makes his pupils dilate. His lips are chapped and Derek is positive Peter hadn’t even given him water. “The debt was cleared by St… the father of my son.”  
  
“You sound pretty fucking sure, but from where I‘m standing, I‘m out two hundred large and the only thing you have to offer me for my loss is the value of your organs. How much do you think you’re worth?” Derek stands up, kicks the chair out from under Rafael. He goes down hard, shoulder hitting the cement floor but to his credit he doesn’t make a sound, holds his head up from the ground. “I don’t like to be lied to.”  
  
“I’m not lying, he married one of Hale’s men; he wouldn’t lie about that. I swear. His name is Derek and--”  
  
“I believe you."

"You do?"

  
“Don’t look so shocked.” Derek crouches down, keeps his knife eye level and watches Rafael’s eyes follow it. “Question number three, why were you speaking to Jackson Whittimore?”  
  
“I don’t know what your talking about.”  
  
Slowly, Derek drags the dull side of the blade over his cheek. “Careful.”  
  
“I…“ Rafael flinches. “He’s the person you talk to when you need certain things.”  
  
“What kind of things? Drugs, asshole?”  
  
“I’m clean, I swear, I just needed…”  
  
“What.” Patience is always in short supply with Derek and his is running out.  
  
“I needed contact information on John Stilinkski.”  
  
Stiles’ father. “Why?”  
  
“There was a heroin operation, I set him up and he lost everything; his job, his position and respect.  Just…I wanted to make amends.”  
  
“Isaac.” Derek calls out and the boy steps in from just outside of the room. “Get me whatever was on him when Peter brought him in.”  
  
“Sure.” Isaac disappears and comes back shortly with the thick manila envelope. “This is all Peter said he had.” Ever useful, Isaac drops a heavy lead pipe at Derek’s feet. It rolls two inches up to Rafael’s face and the other man looks green.  
  
“Here’s what’s going to happen, _Rafe_. If there’s even a single gram of coke, heroin, hell, I don’t give  a fuck, if there’s a speck of marijuana in here, I’m going to shatter every bone in your body and you‘ll be drinking through a straw for the rest of your motherfucking life.”  
  
Derek opens the envelope.  
  
“Well?” Isaac sounds like he’s going to throw up; the kid’s still too wet behind the ears to be down in the basement. He sounds almost as terrified as Rafael.  
  
Disappointment makes Derek bitter, the papers are what he said. “Let him go.”  
  
“Are you--”  
  
“Just do it, Isaac.”  
  
Derek watches Isaac undo the metal chains, takes in the red chafed skin at Rafael’s wrist and ankles. When Rafael stands it’s with some difficulty. He’s smart enough not to try and bolt.  
  
Better to get this over with. “Rafael Lombardi.”  
  
“Y-yes?”  
  
“Derek Hale, nice to meet you.” He drops the papers on the floor at his feet. “Tell Stiles about _anything_ that happened here and you’ll be back in chains. Isaac, show him out.”  
  
***Stiles***  
  
Dylan starts screaming the second he’s put down on Santa’s lap.  
  
Stiles cringes, he really thought this year was going to be different, he should‘ve known better. Ever since Dylan was a baby he’s had this pure, _unnatural_ hatred for Santa Claus. Dylan likes the _idea_ of Santa enough, will excitedly dictate his Christmas letter and watch Stiles’ bake cookies, but the moment he gets to the mall and sees the real life Santa he loses all composure.  
  
“Priceless.” Derek mutters to his left. He’s looking at the monitor of the camera. “He looks like he’s having a great time.”  
  
For his part, Santa looks pretty fed up. Stiles doesn’t blame him. Dylan is turning four, much too old for the scene he’s making and much too strong for Santa to dodge his well placed blows. The moment the flash goes off, Santa thrusts Dylan at them.  
  
“I swear he hasn’t been this naughty all year.” Stiles tries to joke but Santa just glares and Stiles is pretty sure he just got flipped the mental bird.  
  
“You’re okay.” Derek tells Dylan, wipes his face when the little boy continues to cry. “You’ve gotta pull yourself together, dude. People are staring.”  
  
“ _No_.” Dylan whimpers, holding on tight to Derek‘s neck. “I don’t like him.”  
  
“Everyone likes Santa.” Derek replies cheerfully. “I’ll tell you what, let’s get pizza and we can put this little shitfest behind us.”  
  
“Shitfest.” Dylan repeats because the only new words he wants to learn are any cuss words they let slip. “Santa shitfest.”  
  
“Good job, Dad.” Stiles grumbles, slipping his hand into Derek’s free one as they walk to the food court. “Another amazing word to add to the repertoire.”  
  
  
***Derek***

  
  
“I get this spoon.” Stiles pouts, hanging over Derek’s shoulder as he mixes white chocolate chip brownie batter. “You heard me call it.”  
  
They’ve been baking cookies and brownies for Santa for the past hour.  Well, _Derek_ has been baking.  Stiles and Dylan have just been watching him, each one sneaking swipes of batter randomly and staring into the oven when he puts in a new batch to bake.

Yeah, Derek's not sure when he became Mr. Mom either.  
  
“ _I_ get it!” Dylan shrieks to his left, and Derek rolls his eyes. Seriously, this is his life. “ I wanna lick the spoon, Daddy! I'm _little_!”  
  
“I called it!” Stiles fires back, only half serious and that’s enough for Derek to think he’s off his rocker. “He already got the cookie spoon.”  
  
“Babe, are you really going to argue with a kid-- _your kid_ \--for some brownie mix?”  
  
Stiles shrugs unashamed, “Chocolate is chocolate.”  
  
“D-daddy?” Dylan’s inserted that little wibble in his voice and it's clear he's won. Stiles mutters about him not playing fair. “ _Pease_?”  
  
“I vote Dylan gets the spoon.” Derek decides, and Stiles pouts. “Hey,” Derek hands the spoon over to their son and then lowers his voice so only Stiles can hear. “ I can give you something else to lick later on.”  
  
“Like I want to lick  _that_ over chocolate.”  
  
Derek winks, “Who says you can’t have both?”  
  
Stiles face flushes an enchanting pink, mouth parting slightly as his breaths go shallow. “Maybe.”  
  
Derek can tell he’s _very_ on board with the idea. “As soon as we get the rugrat to bed.”  
  
“ _Mm_.” Stiles fits himself up against Derek’s body, nails scratching over his back lightly. “Papa like.”  
  
“Daddy like.”  
  
“DYLAN LIKE!”  Dylan screams, thrusting his spoon up into the air triumphantly.  
  
Both of them start laughing, and Stiles swoops down to swing Dylan up into the air. “C’mon Dyl-Pickle, time to get ready for bed.”  
  
“Santa’s going to like his cookies, right? He'll eat them all up and give me presents!”  
  
“He’s going to _love_ them.” Stiles makes a funny face at Derek over Dylan’s head. "They might make up for the mall debacle.”  
  
***Stiles***  
  
The next morning Stiles awakes to the delicious scent of cinnamon, butter and sugar. He rolls over automatically reaching for Derek who of course isn’t there because it’s not like Dylan could get up and make breakfast.  
  
The horrific strands of Alvin and The Chipmunks come through the partially opened door and it hits Stiles like a ton of bricks. There’s only one reason Derek would get that CD down from the shelf.  
  
Shit, it’s Christmas.  
  
Hurriedly, Stiles brushes his teeth and splashes water on his face, only he would sleep through Christmas morning. In his defense, he’d gotten quite the workout last night. Ever since they started trying for  a baby, Derek’s been insatiable. They’ve been going at it like crazy and Stiles has never been happier. And the thought of having a baby with Derek? It’s the proverbial icing on the cake.  
  
After washing up, Stiles goes into the kitchen. Derek’s at the stove wearing just a pair of blue flannel pants and  flipping waffles. Dylan is next to him, hands wrapped like tentacles around his right leg. He only does that when he’s upset.  A quick peek into the living room and yup, there is still a monstrous pile of presents sitting under the lit tree.  
  
Robin is laying in front of it, ears perking up when she spots him and even she looks sullen.  Great, he’s managed to piss off the dog.  
  
“Merry Christmas everyone!” Stiles calls out brightly and Dylan detaches himself from Derek eyes brightening as he runs to Stiles.  
  
“Alright, Dyl.” Stiles hefts him up, peppering his face with kisses. “I’m sorry I woke up late but we can open presents.”  
  
“You stayed sleeping.” His son accuses, pout out in full effect. “Daddy wouldna let me open any presents cause he said you wanted pictures.”  
  
Stiles shoots Derek a grateful look. He does want pictures. _Tons_. This is their first official Christmas as a family. “You should’ve woke me.”  
  
“You needed your sleep, and a half an hour didn’t kill him.” Derek presses a kiss to his forehead. “Merry Christmas.”  
  
Dylan is running around like a chicken with it’s head cut off. He’s so excited he trips over Robin, prompting the big dog to get up and chase him. Dylan’s not opening anything, starts on one package only to shriek and move on to the next.  
  
“I can’t believe you actually waited for me to get up, never thought I’d see the day you took a stand against Dylan.”  
  
Warm hands slip around Stiles’ waist and stay there. “I wanted it to be the three of us…maybe four?”  
  
“It’d be too early to tell.” Stiles leans back against him, watching with a smile as Dylan freaks out.    
  
“He needs help.” Derek laughs, moving away. “Get the camera, and I‘ll get started on the monstrous pile of presents with him.”  
  
When Stiles comes back, Derek is sitting cross legged on the floor next to Dylan, holding the biggest box steady as Dylan rips back the red and green wrapping paper. It’s a present Stiles hasn’t seen and he and Derek had wrapped them all together.  
  
“Wow!” Dylan is so awed he stops unwrapping altogether, eyes going comically wide as he stares at Derek and then up at Stiles.  “For me?”  
  
Derek smiles.  “Yes, runt, it‘s for you.”  
  
It’s a red and chrome bicycle, complete with training wheels.  It’s already assembled in the box and Derek wheels it out of the empty card board as Dylan claps his hands and crows his delight.  
  
“Thank you!” Ever the polite child, Dylan squeezes Derek in a big hug. “Put me on it, Daddy!”  
  
And that’s Stiles’ cue to start snapping photographs. They looks so adorable together, Dylan perched precariously on the bicycle, face delighted and determined as Derek pushes him. Dylan tries to peddle but it’s clearly not working out.  
  
It takes awhile but they coax Dylan to open up his other presents, the clear favorite is the bicycle though, he never wanders more than a foot away from it.  
  
“And for the second most important man in my life, ” Derek extends a red envelope and Stiles pulls a face.  
  
“I thought we agreed just stuff for Dylan.”  
  
“ _You_ agreed.” Derek corrects. “There was no way  I was going to let our first Christmas pass by without buying you presents.”  
  
“ _Presents_ , as in more than one?”  
  
Derek glares at him, “You seriously got me jack shit?”  
  
Stiles laughs, “I got you presents, hubby.”  
  
“Every time you call me that it gets a little more annoying.” Derek takes the camera from his hand and Stiles knows he‘s going to get a lot of unflattering pictures of him. “Open it up.”  
  
“Want me to do it, Poppy?” Dylan pedals over, cheeks flushed with happiness. “I’m good at opening them.”  
  
“I got it.” Stiles rips back the thin paper. Inside the envelope are three first class tickets to Scotland. “Whoa.” He stares down at them in disbelief. “ So we’re not respecting the  twenty five dollar limit?”  
  
“You owe me a honeymoon.”  
  
“Gladly.” Stiles replies, catching Derek in a bone crushing hug. “I can’t believe I got so lucky with you.”  
  
“Those are my lines.” Derek tilts his face up and kisses him sweetly. “I love you... scarecrow.”  
  
“That is _not_ a sweet nickname. We talked about giving me a _sweet_ nickname!” Stiles mock glares, but he’s too happy to care. "Not cute at all, _petunia_."  
  
The kiss tastes like sugar and happiness; this is what he’s waited for his entire life.  
  
“We start in Scotland and move on from there.” Derek pinches his side, “Anywhere you want.”  
  
Stiles fingers the third ticket, “Dylan too?”  
  
“He goes where we go.”

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is love <3


End file.
